


I prayed my mind be good to me

by Lysaanderr



Category: TwoSet, Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysaanderr/pseuds/Lysaanderr
Summary: Dreams can be heavy, too.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	I prayed my mind be good to me

The January summer heat is stifling; the air heavy and still. The room is dark and slits of light fall through the swaying gaps in the blinds, painting the carpet with caged bars. Brett looks up at the ceiling—the fan spins, languid and slow. The palms of his hands are damp, and his aching fingers remain half-curled around the scroll of his violin.

Eddy's older sister, Belle, had come across them complaining about the kinks in their necks one day and had tried teaching them some yoga poses that might help. She had even demonstrated the simplest one where they all just lay on their backs with their arms and legs stretched out, palms facing open and up. _The corpse pose_ , she had said it was called. They had giggled and fooled around and ended up in a heap on the floor, trying to tickle each other. After they had untangled their sweaty limbs and sprawled out in the living room, still laughing breathlessly, they realized that she had already left.

_Corpse pose_ , Brett thinks.

Belle had said that, in the corpse pose, they were to imagine that they were receiving all the good in the universe through the upturned palms of their hands. _Be open to it_ , she had instructed. _Be ready to receive it._

Brett flexes the fingers of his right hand but leaves his left as it is. The weight of his violin anchors him and he imagines the dent it leaves in his flesh, the strings etching lines into his fingertips. He sees invisible scars folding upon his chest and ankles, cobweb-fine layers bearing him down. 

He dreams with his eyes open—the rush of cloud and wind beneath unfurling wings, the spray of water as talons skim over the surface. The waves gleam from the stage lights, ripples churning from the applause. He casts his eyes out to the sea of people, the upholstered seats, watches the eyes watching him. 

Be open. Be ready. 

The shadow of his bow dances and the music that rings out spins off into the air like loosed arrows. He wishes he could be just that, a single note whirling out into space, held together by the pulsing vibration of a string, hovering in the moment of a sharp intake of a breath before he's free to spring apart into motes of dust.

Free. To be free.

Brett feels heavy, hampered by this heady humid heat. He's plastered to the earth, spread out across the floor, oozing out without a frame or shape or form. He's tired from running, running after and running from, all the clawing and gnashing and bloodied shreds of dignity and tears.

His phone buzzes with a message notification and he gropes blindly for it with his right hand, manages to hold it up with herculean effort. 

_yo bro still up for recording?_

He remembers all the times he's had to type _no_ , the slow drag of his feet taking him into the plane and onto another stage, then another, and another, with the lights in his eyes casting solid shadows on his solitary outline. He looks at the message again, the cursor blinking expectantly, waiting and waiting, always waiting no matter how many times he’d left.

_Yes_ , he types. He's aware that sweat has beaded across his forehead, has worked its way into his eyes, making them prickle. The scroll of the violin is slick with the heat of his body.

_k. i’ll be there in 20. get ready_

He cradles the corpse of a dream, tilts open the palms of his hands, _yes_ , _yes_ , _yes,_ _I’m ready_ , and lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagery inspired by an interview in which Brett said he would want to be an eagle if he were an animal.
> 
> Title of drabble from Hoizer's "In The Woods Somewhere".


End file.
